


Take My Hand

by wingardiumleviosassy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Slow Dancing, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingardiumleviosassy/pseuds/wingardiumleviosassy
Summary: Draco teaches Harry to dance.(Inspired by All About Us by He Is We feat. Owl City)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For Amanda <3
> 
> Special thanks to my betas RJ & Em and the whole of the GWB server for keeping me motivated!

Draco arrived perfectly on time, which was to say fashionably late. The gala - for some charitable cause or another - was already in full swing, politicians and Aurors and other notable figures chatting to one another around the ballroom. 

He received a few dirty looks, but nothing like he used to get, back in the days right after the war. Despite the fact that he’d been aquitted for his role due to his age and some enlightening testimony from Harry Potter, wizarding society had not yet been ready to accept him back with open arms. 

His mother had not been so lucky, and was sentenced to two years of house arrest. And so the role of regaining his family’s favour had fallen to him, attending every ball and social event he could get an invitation to. Which, of course, was difficult when you had been a Death Eater. 

He had missed the balls, though. The music, the grand halls they took place in decorated to perfection, the elegant robes that twirled about the dance floor in a blur of colour. It reminded him of the time before the war, where his family was at the height of society and he would dance with his mother while his father mingled with politicians. 

Speaking of. Draco walked through the ballroom, careful to smile at the right people and avoid eye contact with the wrong ones. He got himself a drink at the bar nestled in the corner, before taking a breath and resigning himself to a night of restoring the family name.

After a while of painful conversations with bureaucrats, he spotted a familiar dark bob and excused himself from a droll discussion on the rise in price of potion ingredients.

He made his way over, and Pansy Parkinson’s face lit up upon seeing him. 

“Draco!” she greeted him with a hug. She looked as stylish as ever, in dark red lipstick and form fitting robes. 

Draco was surprised at how easily she had managed to move on. Her family weren’t quite as involved with Voldemort as Draco’s, but they were still known to be sympathisers, and many remembered her for the spectacle she had made of herself on the day of the final battle. However, she had managed to secure a job for herself at Witch Weekly - she always had been one for gossip. Most of her articles were still minor ones tucked away at the back of the magazine, but she was slowly but surely working her way up to bigger things. 

“How’s the job going? Marsden still giving you shit?” Draco asked. 

Pansy sipped her drink before answering. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”

Draco fixed her with a look. 

She sighed. “I assure you, I can handle myself.”

“I’m just worried about you. His sister was one of the victims in the final battle, you don’t know if he holds that against you,” Draco murmured, voice laced with concern. 

“Not everyone is still clinging to the past, Draco,” she said pointedly. “People are capable of moving on, you just need to show them you’re willing to change.”

He lowered his voice. “I know that. But there are people out there who got hurt and might not be as forgiving for the mistakes we’ve made.” 

“Oh yes, I had forgotten how prone to melodrama you are. You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” Pansy sighed. 

“I’m not being dramatic!” Draco exclaimed.

Pansy rolled her eyes, before her features softened. “The war is over, darling. Nobody’s out to get you anymore. Live your life.”

Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Luckily he was spared having to answer by a rise in volume, and a flurry of movement as heads turned to catch a peek at the newest arrival. 

“Oh good, Potter’s here. I was hoping for some kind of drama tonight,” said Pansy.

***

Harry stepped through the floo, and realised he definitely should have owled first. 

“Harry! I wasn’t expecting you today!” Andromeda wandered over to the fireplace and greeted him with a warm hug.

“I thought I’d pop in and surprise Teddy- I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was coming, I didn’t realise you’d, er, have company.”

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the floor of Andromeda’s living room in her little cottage outside of Devon, playing with Teddy. At the sound of Harry’s name he had stiffened up and was now staring intently at a patch of carpet. 

It was the first time Harry had seen him since his trial almost a year ago. At the time he was gaunt and pale, robes hanging off of his thin frame after his short stint in Azkaban. He seemed better now, healthy, whole again. His face had colour about it, and he had grown into his pointiness. His hair was the same white blonde, but it was no longer slicked back and as a result looked fluffy and soft, with a slight wave to it. It suited him.

Andromeda interrupted his train of thought. “Nonsense, Harry, you’re always welcome in my home. The more the merrier. Are you hungry? I was just about to start dinner.” 

Harry took another glance at Malfoy, who had eased a little but was still tensed up. Teddy had started tugging at his fingers. “I really don’t want to impose, Andromeda-”

“How many times must I ask you to call me Andi? And you wouldn’t be imposing at all, you can help me cook. Merlin knows it’d be nice to have some help from someone who actually knows what they’re doing,” she said, shooting a glance over at Malfoy. 

Malfoy let out a laugh, finally letting himself relax. “Someone has to entertain this little terror,” he said, reaching out a hand to tickle Teddy, who squealed with laughter. 

Harry thought about Grimmauld Place, and the cold and empty dining room waiting for him there. He didn’t particularly want to spend an evening with Malfoy, but another glance around the cosy room and at Teddy made him stick it out. Besides, it would be a good idea to see what Malfoy was up to nowadays, he rationalised. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered. “Okay then.”

He followed Androm- Andi to the kitchen and helped her get the food started. 

“So,” Harry ventured, as he was chopping vegetables, “Draco Malfoy.”

Andi raised an eyebrow at him from where she was frying mince. They’d become quite close through their mutual love for Teddy, and she could always read him far too well. “What about him?” she asked sweetly. 

Slytherins. He rephrased, careful to make it sound as casual as possible. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s been popping over for months now, I’m surprised you haven’t run into him sooner. We’ve been to the Manor a few times too, to see Narcissa. It’s been lovely getting to know her again. Draco is Teddy’s cousin, you know. Well, first cousin once removed.” Harry had never quite got the hang of family trees.

Andromeda added a pinch of salt to the pan. “He’s brilliant with Teddy, and he’s really been trying to get over the past. Give him a chance, Harry. I know you two have had your differences but I really think you two would get on together.”

Harry snorted. ‘Differences’ was putting it lightly. But still, he thought. The war was over, as Hermione and his mind healer had reminded him frequently. He trusted Andi, and Malfoy seemed to have spent enough time here to get to know her and Teddy. Surely it couldn’t hurt to give him another shot?

Andromeda and Harry moved about the kitchen in comfortable silence. Before too much longer, their shepherd’s pie was in the oven and Harry was sent to set the table. 

He steeled himself a little before walking through the door. It was just Malfoy, right? He had no reason to be nervous.

Andi’s dining table was set up across from the sofas and coffee table that made up the living room. The cottage was cosy and modest, yet somehow not cramped. Harry supposed you wouldn’t need that much space if it was just you and a baby. His heart ached for her. She had lost her husband and daughter in the war, yet was strong enough to keep going and take care of Teddy. After the final battle, Harry had dragged himself back to Grimmauld Place, collapsed onto Sirius’ old bed and didn’t leave the house for almost a week.

Harry placed the knives and forks on the table, letting out a sigh. He heard a throat clear behind him, and turned to see Malfoy looking at him from where he sat on the floor with Teddy. It was odd seeing him there, sitting on the floor and surrounded by brightly coloured toys, a very stark contrast to the prim and buttoned-up Malfoy of Harry’s memory. 

“Dinner smells good,” Malfoy said tentatively, as though not quite sure whether or not he should speak first.

Harry blinked at him. “Oh. It’s um, shepherd’s pie.”

“I haven’t had that since Hogwarts,” Malfoy replied, then winced a bit, realising a second too late just how many memories were connected to Hogwarts. It could have been an opportunity to bring up their past, start a fight, but Harry let it slip away.

“Me either, actually. It was always my favourite,” Harry said. It felt like a peace offering.

Malfoy let his face slip into a half-smile. Harry realised how open he’d been here, in a way that he never had at school. He didn’t think Malfoy was capable of smiling like that, soft and sincere. 

Teddy started babbling and crawling towards Malfoy’s half empty mug of tea that rested beside him. In one deft swoop he took the mug out of Teddy’s reach and gave him one of the toys scattered around the carpet. Teddy seemed satisfied with the replacement. 

“You’re good with him,” Harry said, nodding his head at Teddy. 

Malfoy did the half-smile again. “Family is important. If I’ve learnt anything, it’s that.” 

Harry couldn’t help but agree.

Dinner was not as bad as he expected - a bit stilted, but not uncomfortable. Andi kept the conversation going by asking them about their lives. Harry didn’t have much to offer, other than the fact that Auror training was difficult and exhausting, and complaints about the many public appearances he’d had to make. Between the two, his social life was practically non-existent. Malfoy didn’t have an awful lot to say either, but Harry had discovered that he worked at St. Mungo’s, doing something with experimental potions. Malfoy ended up explaining an aspect of potions theory that went right over his head, but Andi nodded along with him.

Harry was surprised at how much he had changed. Draco seemed to really want to help people, and he was shocked to discover how much he actually enjoyed being in the Slytherin’s company when insults weren’t being hurled. He stuck around for a cup of tea and biscuits after dinner, enjoying the atmosphere. 

Draco caught his arm just as Harry was preparing to floo back to Grimmauld.

“Potter. Thank you. For speaking at my trial, and my mother’s. I- I can’t imagine where I would be right now without that.” His voice was low and genuine. 

Harry wished he hadn’t noticed how well his jumper brought out his eyes.

***

Fuck, he was late, _again_. Auror training had run late and Harry had barely enough time to take a shower and throw on the first set of dress robes he could find. Another ministry ball. Really, who was organising these things? At least it was for a good cause, he supposed. 

Immediately upon arrival most eyes were on him, as per usual. He really should be used to this by now, he thought, as a particularly daring witch asked him for an autograph. He shouldered his way into the main ballroom, attempting to find his friends whilst still keeping his head down.

Hermione was busy - she almost always was, these days - so it was just Ron to keep him company. 

He spotted him by the bar and made his way over, being accosted by several wix on his way, asking him the same questions about his defeat of Voldemort (really, hadn’t he answered that by now?), politics (and how was _he_ supposed to know the answer?) or his personal life (which, really?). He was proud that he managed to keep up what Hermione referred to as his ‘PR smile’, so they didn’t peg him as rude and run off to the Prophet with tales of the bastard-who-lived. 

Harry greeted his old friend with a slap on the shoulder. They’d seen each other earlier in the week, during training. Ron was excelling in their pursuit to become Aurors, diving into the programme with an enthusiasm that Harry couldn’t quite match. His strategic mind, from years of besting everyone in chess, translated perfectly into planning missions and solving cases.

“Alright, mate?”

Ron smiled at him. “Yeah, not too bad.”

“How’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Oh, she’s absolutely swamped. I honestly don’t know how she does it all.” 

Not only was Hermione studying Magical Law, she also had an internship at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where she was fiercely campaigning for the rights of werewolves, house elves, and anything in between. Somehow she also found the time to read more books than Harry could fathom, make the occasional public appearance, have Sunday lunch at the Burrow, and meet up with their ever-expanding group of friends for their weekly pub night every Friday. 

Harry was exhausted just thinking about it. 

“She’s working on a new proposal, actually. Something about restructuring departmental classifications. It sounded really good when she said it.” 

“Ah, she and Draco will have something to talk about on pub night then.”

“Speaking of the ferret,” said Ron, glancing over Harry’s shoulder.

Draco was at the other end of the ballroom, talking to Pansy Parkinson. Harry had never really understood fashion, but seeing him in those robes was enough to make him reconsider. They were made of deep blue velvet, with shimmering silver constellations patterned across the fabric, a perfect replica of the night sky. 

He looked (for lack of a better word) magical. 

Fuck it, Harry thought, before glancing at Ron. “I’m going to go and say hi.”

***

When Draco had first seen Grimmauld Place, it had looked nothing like this. Harry had finally decided to start renovating at the beginning of summer. Draco was helping, of course - Merlin knows the man had no taste - and the house was flourishing under the attention. 

No longer was it dark, grimy, and depressing. Many of the rooms had opened up, large windows suddenly letting in plenty of sunlight. 

The wall of house-elf heads had been the first to go, thank goodness. Kreacher hadn’t been pleased with that, but he didn’t seem to hold it against them. In fact, since their work had begun, he was happier than ever, humming under his breath whilst cleaning and preparing them meals when Harry didn’t want to cook. Kreacher took a shine to Draco immediately, which Harry said was because of his lineage and Draco said was because he was just irresistibly likeable, thank you very much. 

The ever-screeching portrait of Walburga Black had finally been removed, thanks to a nifty anti-sticking charm Hermione had found (she had told Draco unequivocally to call her Hermione after the first time Harry had dragged him along to the Gryffindors’ pub night at their favourite Muggle place). 

Draco was surprised at how easily he had been accepted into the group. He had sent most of them apology letters, as part of his self-imposed penance back when everyone was still freshly grieving. Not to say it wasn’t awkward to begin with, but they seemed to trust Harry’s judgement, and Draco tried his best to show them that he really was trying to change. He ended up spending most of the night with Luna Lovegood, faintly amused by her outlandish conspiracy theories and inspired by her unwavering optimism. 

She was there as the Weasley girl’s date. Harry and Ginny had split amicably sometime after the final battle - Harry had told him it was because neither of them were quite right for each other. Draco had to agree, as Ginny looked at Luna as though she was the most beautiful being to walk the planet. 

Of course, this also meant that Harry was single, something Draco didn’t think would be of any relevance to him until Harry kissed him after the second time Draco joined their pub night, and- oh. 

The house seemed to approve of their relationship, becoming ever brighter the more time Draco spent there. That was Draco’s excuse, anyway. The most recent space to tackle had been one of the many hidden rooms stuffed to the brim with expensive antiques and dark artifacts. After a near decapitation from an inconspicuous looking jack-in-the-box, Harry had suggested they take a break. 

The two of them made their way down to the (now blessedly restored) kitchen, the wireless flicking on by itself and filling the room with Celestina Warbeck’s crooning. Harry waved his hand and the kettle filled and began to heat. 

Draco rolled his eyes, leaning against the countertop. “Celestina? Really?”

“Mm. Reminds me of Christmas at the Weasleys,” said Harry absentmindedly, levitating two mugs towards him.

“Reminds me of wanting to jump off of the Astronomy Tower,” joked Draco. 

Harry laughed as he prepared the tea. 

The song changed, to one Draco remembered from dance lessons as a child. One of his tutors had been a young woman, who used newer music rather than the classical drivel he had become attuned to. His father wouldn’t stand for it, of course, and had replaced her by the next lesson with a stern older woman who stepped on his toe with her stilettos when he fumbled a step. 

“Harry. Dance with me?” he asked.

Harry laughed again, a sound Draco was sure he’d never tire of hearing. “Are you sure? I’ve always been a bit of a shit dancer.”

Draco scoffed. “You don’t need to remind me, I saw that atrocious performance at the Yule Ball. Come on, I’ll teach you.” 

He held out a hand, and realised a second later how it mirrored their first meeting. This time, Harry took it without hesitation and Draco smiled. 

He led them to the centre of the kitchen and arranged Harry’s other hand on his waist. He would have to lead, although a glance at Harry confirmed that he didn’t mind. 

They started to move to the music. Harry was right in his assessment, he was a shit dancer. 

“I feel sorry for that poor Patil girl. Merlin, how did she put up with you?” he teased. 

With Draco’s guiding hands and murmured advice, Harry started to get the hang of it. 

The song drew to a close, but instead of dropping their hands, Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s waist and kept going, even though the next song wasn’t quite right to dance to. 

Their tea ended up cold.

***

“Hi,” said Harry, approaching the two Slytherins with Ron in tow. 

Draco just raised an eyebrow at him. Surely eyebrow-raising must be a prerequisite for getting into Slytherin, Harry thought. They usually didn’t socialise much at gatherings like these, opting to stick to their socialising quotas and get out as soon as possible. It never quite seemed worth risking exposing their relationship, either. The press was still infatuated with Harry, and Draco was no stranger to an unflattering article or two.

“Parkinson, it’s uh, nice to see you,” said Harry, rather awkwardly.

“Always a pleasure, Potter. And please, call me Pansy.”

Draco gave in and smiled at his boyfriend. From close up like this, Harry could spot a shooting star streaking over the shoulder of his robes. “So, what brings you over here?” he asked.

“Just thought I’d come and annoy you for a bit.”

“And you’re doing that spectacularly.”

“Oh, good. Think anyone noticed I was late?”

Draco scoffed. “I’ll say. The only thing overshadowing your tardiness is those god awful robes. Really, did you find them on the floor?”

Harry laughed. “At least I’m not hiding in a corner with my friend.”

“That’s exactly what you were just doing!”

“Salazar, it’s like we’re not even here,” Pansy said to Ron in a mock whisper.

Ron let out a hearty laugh. “Tell me about it. He’s been like this for months. It was all _Draco was at Andi’s today, oh Draco’s so good with Teddy, I wonder if he likes me_!”

“Hey!” exclaimed Harry, punching Ron lightheartedly in the arm. “I did _not_ sound like that.”

“I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you’ve always been obsessed with me,” Draco teased. 

Pansy scoffed. “Oh, please, like you were any better. I distinctly remember being robbed of my beauty sleep one night back in fourth year to help you make those ‘Potter Stinks’ badges.”

“I forgot about the badges!” Ron said excitedly. 

“So did I!”

The band started to play a song, and it took Harry a moment to realise why he recognised it. It was the one they first danced to at Grimmauld. He met Draco’s eye and it was clear he was thinking of the same thing.

And then Draco offered him his hand, just as he did in the kitchen.

Harry gaped at him for a second. They had discussed coming out to the public, but Draco didn’t seem that enthusiastic and Harry didn’t want to push. 

“Are you sure? We’re surrounded by reporters. Uh, no offence, Pansy.”

“None taken.” she replied, faintly amused. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sick of hiding, aren’t you?” said Draco.

Harry smiled. “You know I am, but-”

“Scared, Potter?” Draco asked, and that sealed it, didn’t it? Harry never could back away from a challenge. 

“You wish.”

***

Golden rays of winter sunlight peeked through the window as Draco blinked awake. It took him a second to place what had woken him - a tapping on the window from an owl. Upon further inspection it was Weasley’s owl, Chicken (or some other equally ridiculous name). 

Draco dragged himself from the bed, carefully disentangling himself from a sleeping Harry. The owl was carrying a rolled up newspaper and a note. He opened the window and accepted them, careful to give the messenger a stroke for its trouble. Upon inspection, the note read: 

_Thought you should see this.  
-Hermione_

How was that woman so up to date? 

The newspaper was emblazoned with a large photograph of the pair of them dancing and the headline _Boy Who Lived Dances With Death Eater!_. He didn't bother reading the accompanying article.

“Harry,” Draco murmured, walking back to the bed and slipping under the warm covers. 

“Mmm,” came the response.

“We made the first page of the Prophet.”

That got his attention. Harry sat up, and Draco took a minute to admire his truly ridiculous bedhead. 

“Are you okay with that?” Harry asked, voice laced with concern. “I know you weren’t sure when we discussed it and I don’t want you to feel-”

“Of course I am, scarhead,” Draco cut in. “I was the one who asked you to dance in the first place. I want this. With you.”

Harry’s furrowed brow dissipated and a smile filled his face. “Oh. Okay. Move in with me?”

“I- what?” Draco gaped at him.

“You heard me. Move in with me. I mean, you already spend most nights here anyways, and now that the rest of the wizarding world knows there really isn’t anything stopping us.”

Draco just looked at him for a second, bedhead and all. He realised how content he was here, in Harry’s bed, in a way he hadn’t been in years. “It’s very hard to say no to you, you know.”

“I know.” Harry moved forward to meet Draco’s lips with his. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you moron.”


End file.
